


Toss and Turn In Undertow

by AetherAria



Series: things will be better [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Anxiety, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday, Multi, Panic Attacks, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), maybe. maybe. whatever tho!, should i be worried about how many tags this shares with KYHATB?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 03:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherAria/pseuds/AetherAria
Summary: Sir Damien has a bit of a rough day. His flowers do their best to help.





	Toss and Turn In Undertow

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, here I go projecting my mental health onto rad bouquet again! Sorry, Damien. Extra content warnings for some very... aggressively self-hating language. I will admit that this was at times unpleasant to write. Hope the stress is worth it <3<3 this is a companion piece to Keep Your Head Above The Blue, hence the series, with this one taking place chronologically first, despite the publication order. 
> 
> Name from a lyric in the song In Undertow, by Alvvays.

Sometimes the thrumming panic buries Damien. Sometimes, despite his best efforts, despite his prayers and the knowledge of a love buffeting him from two sides, he is consumed in the bleak, bitter echoes of his own mind. Mistakes in the past, mistakes he might make in the future, actions he should or should not have taken, opportunities he is missing and failures he is committing at this very moment, a thousand catastrophized possibilities of his own making-

Rilla knows the signs, even when Damien manages to keep from babbling his head off through the spiral. She knows the particular shallowness of his breathing and distance in his eyes when the worst parts of his mind take the reigns, knows how to take his hand and talk him down, or if the talking doesn’t work, how to sing and stroke his hair until his breathing comes easier, until he can hum along as well.

Arum is less practiced, but he’s almost better at recognizing when Damien is coming close to danger than Rilla is, which feels odd at first. Arum can hear his heartbeat from a short distance, and that is interesting for a number of unrelated reasons, but it also means that he can tell quickly if Damien is working himself up too fast. He also recognizes early on that he can’t just duel Damien _every_ time he needs to pull him down from his dangerous highs of distress, though sparring is still enjoyable on occasion. The most effective method Arum lands on is to simply wrap all four arms and his tail around Damien, lift him into the air and _squeeze_. Just enough so that Damien can’t wriggle his way out, just enough so that the pressure feels- feels like something safe. That’s what makes it likely to work, Damien thinks. The physicality of it. An anchor in the world outside his own head, giving him no choice but to hang in the air and just breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he says, panting from the pressure and the panic and closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to see whatever expression of annoyance Arum might be wearing. “I am sorry I persist in- I am sorry to trouble you so.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arum mutters, close by Damien’s ear. “No apologies.”

He is only saying that to assuage Damien’s feelings, certainly. Damien can feel Arum’s heart beating from this close, a slow, sweet drumbeat he does not feel worthy to hear. “I know that my weakness of the mind must be frustrating, Lord Arum; you need not honey over your words for my sake-”

Arum squeezes him tighter for a moment, his tail coiling behind him as a low ticking growl rises in his chest. “Are you accusing me of deceit, honeysuckle?”

“No, no I merely-”

“Then you should _trust_ when I say you need not apologize.”

“I know,” Damien says, ducking his head. “I know.” He pauses, biting his lip. “Yet I worry that I have caused you some irritation, and if so you could not be blamed for feeling-”

The growl in Arum’s chest pitches lower and louder for a moment and then he adjusts his grip on Damien, swinging his legs up until he’s carrying him in a way Damien can only think of as _bridal style_ , which is entirely unhelpful to the roiling confused mess of his thoughts as he squeaks in protest. “I’ve had quite enough of that,” Arum says roughly as he starts a quick walk. “Keep, open the way to Amaryllis’ home, if you would.”

The portal opens ahead of them and Arum doesn’t even need to break stride until they’re through to Rilla’s front room, the wide flowerpot in the corner behind them curling with the Keep’s vines for a moment or two longer before they recede back into the dirt.

“Lord Arum,” Damien says breathlessly, “I must insist-”

“Amaryllis, I require your assistance,” Arum interrupts flatly.

Rilla steps out from the kitchen with a confused look, then darts across the space to pull the curtains closed. “ _Saints_ , Arum, you have to have the Keep _warn_ me before you come through-”

“The poet is being unreasonable and you know better than I how to deal with him.”

“Ex _cuse_ me-”

“Oh,” Rilla says, brow furrowing sympathetically. “Hard day, Damien?”

“No, of course not my love, it is really not so large an issue as-”

“What must I do,” Arum interrupts again, some of his worry bleeding through the edges of his flat tone, “to convince him that he is not some burden that needs be begged pardon for?”

“Oof,” Rilla says, stepping closer. “Hey, if you figure _that_ one out, make sure you tell me about it first, because I’ve been trying to get that through his thick knightly skull for _years_ now and it doesn’t seem to want to _stick_.”

Damien writhes in Arum’s arms, anxiety on every line of his face. “I don’t- it isn’t as if- I never _said_ -”

His words dry up and he stills again when Rilla reaches out to cup the back of his head in her hand, drawing her fingers through his hair. “Damien. It’s okay.”

The combination- Arum steady and surrounding him with his arms and chest, Rilla on the other side with her hands gentle upon him, it’s soothing and pleasant and loving and Damien doesn’t _deserve_ any of it. He has been nothing but an annoyance to the both of them lately, with his chaotic mind and his fears, and he is sure, _so_ sure that he is damaging this relationship merely by being a part of it.

“S-stop,” he gasps, “oh, _tranquility_ oh please, please- please put me- put me _down_ , I can’t-”

Arum blinks at him in surprise and immediately, gently reorients Damien’s legs beneath him and sets him down, brow furrowed. “I apologize, I did not intend-”

“Don’t- don’t _apologize_ ,” Damien says, shaking his head viciously as he stumbles back, out of range of their gentle hands. “ _I_ am the one who- who keeps _doing_ this-”

“Damien,” Arum says, concerned and confused, and Damien flinches and takes another large step away, fisting his hands at the sides of his head.

“I don’t know how the both of you _tolerate_ me,” Damien hisses through clenched teeth, the hard thud of his heart making his chest feel tight and close and horrifying. “You are both brilliant and brave and you fit together with such glorious ease, with familiarity and humor and I am l-little more than a _leech_ , a drain of affection and attention, and when you look at me like that- like _that_ , with such unearned compassion, I know that I have manipulated you into feeling so softly towards me with my persistent, pathetic, pitiful _writhing_ -”

“You think so little of us, honeysuckle?” Arum says, his head ducked and his expression so openly raw that Damien has to close his eyes against it for a moment.

“No,” Rilla says gently, reaching out to grip Arum’s wrist. “No, it’s not like that. Damien, Damien you need to _breathe_ , okay?”

Damien shakes his head, but he still sucks in a quick sharp breath automatically. “See? Don’t you see?” He laughs in a shuddering, wild sort of way. “Your comfort is- it shows the compassion and beauty of your heart, my flower, but it is a grace of which I am entirely undeserving-”

“Breathe,” she says again, and Damien stops to gasp. “You aren’t being fair to yourself, Damien. Even if any of that were true, I love you because of who you are and how we are together, not because of anything to do with deserving. That’s not how love works.”

Arum watches this exchange, wary eyes darting between the pair of them as Damien shakes his head in denial.

“But you deserve so much _better_ than myself, you deserve each _other_ , such luminous beings as you are, and you certainly deserve better than _me_ -”

“I _deserve_ to love who I love, Damien,” she interrupts, “and I love _you_. I deserve to have a say in this relationship, and I _say_ that I love you. And I’m gonna _keep_ saying it, Damien. I’m gonna say it again and again until you believe me. I _love_ you.”

“ _Why_?” Damien cries, swinging his fists down from his head, leaving his arms to shake at his sides as he gives Rilla a tearful, horrified look. “Why? Why would you possibly love me? You are the most _brilliant_ person I have ever known, and I am little more than a miserable-”

“If I started rattling off a list of reasons why I love you right this instant, Damien – and I _do_ have an actual list, by the way - I know for a fact that it would just freak you out _more_ , with the state you're in.” Rilla raises her hands at her sides in a helpless gesture. “I want to help you. It _hurts_ to see you like this, but I don’t know what to do, or where to start if you won’t believe the things I say.”

“But the two of you- your minds are as quick and sharp as knives which sharpen each _other_ , and all I can be to you is a distraction, a desperate whining thing aching at your heels for affection and comfort. My own mind cannot match yours, it is little more than a nest of nettles within which my demons rest between their campaigns to devour me-"

“Enough of- stop that.” Arum shakes his head, his frill flared partway in distress. “I cannot stand- I cannot abide you speaking of yourself so cruelly.”

Damien squeezes his fists, nails digging into his palms. “You, Lord Arum, have- have even _less_ reason to give me your affection. I was nearly your murderer again and again-”

“And I yours,” Arum barks. “Are we not past that? Have those mistakes not long since been forgiven?” He sneers, but the expression slips away too quickly to be believable. “Or have you been harboring a secret grudge against me for my actions?”

“Of- of course I haven’t,” Damien nearly yelps, shaking his head again.

“Arum,” Rilla warns, squeezing his wrist. “I don’t think-”

“If he believes that I would care less for him because of the mistakes that we _both_ made,” Arum says, “how can I not draw the conclusion that he expects this because it is how _he_ feels about me?”

“Because that reasoning requires some if-then style _logic_ and Damien and logic aren’t even in the same room right now, Arum.”

Arum blinks, then glances at Damien, whose breaths are growing worryingly quick, whose body language is screaming _danger_ as clearly as a blaring horn. Arum slips his hand down slightly, gripping the hand Rilla had wrapped around his wrist, and presses another hand over his own mouth. “Ah… have- have I made things worse?” he hisses low, eyes flicking between his humans again.

“Hard to say,” Rilla murmurs, but the wry tilt of her mouth says, _it certainly didn_ _’t help_ , and Arum winces.

“I-” Damien presses a hand hard against his collarbone, clenching the other tight at his side. “I know that this- that I am- that I am only making things worse, I _know_ that, so I don’t understand why- why you- why you even _want_ to keep me beside you-”

“Breathe,” Arum says at the same moment Rilla says the same, and she squeezes his hand as he continues, “honeysuckle, you are not thinking clearly.”

“I am thinking without sentimentality,” Damien snarls, “for _once_. The two of you- this relationship would be better without my presence stunting and frustrating and causing strife-”

“You think our relationship would be better without you?” Arum wrinkles his snout, stiffening in horror. “The balance we strike is the three of us together, honeysuckle. I fit between you, as you fit between us, as she fits between you and I. This relationship would not _exist_ without you.”

“Wretched whining _thing_ ,” Damien mutters, apparently to himself. “See how you distress them? See the ills you cause?”

Rilla exhales, brow furrowed in worry, and Arum’s heart lurches for the both of them. He takes a shaky breath of his own and Damien continues to mutter abuse at himself, arms wrapped around his own chest in a parody of a hug.

“I love you,” Arum says at last, quietly, and Damien startles like a deer, going dead-still and looking at the monster with wide eyes.

This is not the first time Arum has said this, to Damien or to Rilla, but it is still new enough that it feels like something precious, something to be handled with care. Arum has so far reserved such words for moments of safety, moments in embrace, in the darkness of a shared bed and the warmth of their arms. So for him to offer them now, in the daylight, standing and facing Damien from across the whole distance of Rilla’s front room, after Damien himself has spoken in such wildness and despair-

“I love you, Damien,” Arum says again, just as soft, “and I will not allow you to push me- push _us_ away out of an urge towards self-destruction.”

The words sink down through the churning mire of his mind, and Damien is incredibly aware, for one sharp, bright moment, of how spectacularly he had ruined this, of his own utter lack of control, of his inability to draw breath, and then tears overflow the corners of his eyes as the familiar and unwelcome headrush finally pushes him down, folding him into a childlike crouch as he presses his hands to the sides of his head with a choked-off moan, every single thought in his mind whiting out in an incomprehensible tangle of horror, strong as certain death.

Then, it’s over.

Damien is shaking, hollow and exhausted and wet-cheeked, but the overwhelming panic is spent and gone. He feels suspended in the empty calm for a long moment before he straightens up with a shuddering inhale, clumsily brushing his tears away.

“What…” Arum stares at Damien, worry rolling off of him in waves as he whispers to Rilla. “What _was_ that?”

“Panic attack,” she says, matching his volume with a tense smile. “A pretty rough one, too, I think. C’mon.” She steps a little closer to Damien, then, pulling an alarmed Arum behind her by the hand. “Hey,” she says gently, still leaving a bit of space between the two of them and the knight, “you think the worst of it is past, now?”

Damien nods, still rubbing his face and not looking at either of them.

“Okay.” Her voice is steady, calm, and Arum thinks for what must be the thousandth time that she is the cleverest being he has ever known. “Are you okay for a hug? Or would that be too much just now?”

Damien presses a hand over his eyes, his lip curving miserably, and then he nods again and reaches his other hand towards them.

Rilla sags in relief and closes the gap, wrapping her arm around Damien’s shaking shoulder. She can’t kiss him with his hand covering his face like that, so she kisses the hand instead as he shudders against her. Arum doesn’t know what to do with himself despite Rilla pulling him close as well. When he picked Damien up last, it seemed to catalyze this- this _attack_ , and now he’s frightened of making things worse again with his touch.

Rilla notices his hesitation, and her brow furrows for a moment before she moves, readjusting their positions. She gently spins Damien so he’s in front of her with her arms wrapped around his waist from behind, and she pulls Arum closer on the other side until Damien is pressed up against Arum’s chest, between the two of them. She gives Arum an encouraging smile over Damien’s head, and he tries to swallow his worry, wrapping two arms all the way around Amaryllis and slipping the other two between them to scratch softly down Damien’s back.

“Is this okay?” she says, barely louder than a whisper, and Damien nods a third time, bumping his forehead against Arum’s chest as his breaths slowly even out from their hitching, as the salt Arum can taste on the air subsides.

“I’m sorry, honeysuckle,” Arum says softly, tucking Damien’s head beneath his chin. “I should not have pushed you so when you were in distress.”

“No, it- it wasn’t your fault, it-” Damien finally drops his hand from his face so he can press his palms against Arum’s chest, as if he is gleaning stability from his physical presence alone. “These thoughts have been- haunting me as of late. They would have outed eventually, I’m sure.”

“Nevertheless. I should have been more gentle with you.”

“I know- I _fear_ that my persistent worries are irritating, and then I become terrified of that irritation driving the both of you away, and then the worry over irritating you becomes an annoyance itself, and it recurses and recurses until it becomes an endlessly deep oubliette into which I am cast, and I cannot see either the way to climb out, or the bottom to which I must fall. And-” he sighs through a laugh, “and I _know_ that it is happening, and I cannot seem to control my mind. Even when I know I am being unreasonable. I can _know_ that, but I cannot make myself believe it, or make myself _stop_.”

“You’re feeling more rational now, though?” Rilla asks, and Damien laughs again.

“I am tranquil, at least, and as rational as I ever am, my love. Which, when compared to yourself-”

She squeezes her arms around him, nuzzling her face into the back of his neck. “Perfect. Then that means I can start the list.”

“The- the list?”

“You _asked_ , Damien, so you can’t complain about this now. So! Reasons why I, Amaryllis of Exile, am deeply in love with Sir Damien the Pious, version siiiiiix- no, seventeen, revised edition, _with_ additional contributions from Lord Arum.”

Arum laughs in surprise, and Amaryllis grins behind Damien as he goes stiff. Then the knight looks up at Arum in alarm, his cheeks already tinging dark.

“You _did_ ask, honeysuckle,” Arum says through a smile, his fingers drifting in soothing circles across Damien’s back.

“I love you, Damien,” Rilla starts, “because you are the most sincerely compassionate person I’ve ever known. You’re patient, you’re thoughtful, and you’re selfless to a fault.”

She pauses, raising an eyebrow over Damien’s shoulder, and Arum realizes it’s his turn to offer his _contributions_. “You are… fiercely loyal,” he says, and he smiles when Damien buries his face in Arum’s chest rather than look him in the eye. He understands the urge; it is more difficult than he expected, to put words to all the facets of Damien that cleave together to make Arum’s heart swell and race while Damien is here to hear them directly. “You are spectacularly beautiful,” he says, and then he quickly continues before the teasing gleam in Rilla’s eyes can fluster him, “you are a warrior with such skill that you make your movements as effortless as a dance when you fight, and you are the cleverest wordsmith I’ve ever known.”

“Just a brilliant storyteller,” Rilla agrees warmly. “I didn’t even _like_ poetry before I met you, you know. You can put words together like- like you know how they’re _meant_ to go, and you do it with so much _joy_ that it’s impossible not to get caught up in your stories.”

“I will deny this if ever I am asked, honeysuckle,” Arum murmurs, conspiratorial, “but your poetry is far and away superior to every _scrap_ of monster poetry I have ever read.” Damien chokes on a laugh against Arum’s scales, and Arum can’t help but nuzzle close to his ear. “And your voice, honeysuckle- it rings like _music_. I love the sound of it. I love _you_.”

“You care so deeply,” Rilla continues, “and you try so hard at everything you do. I love you because you make me laugh, and I love you because you are so completely different from me. I love that you and I don’t see the world in the same way, and I love that being with you makes the world seem that much wider and richer because of that. I love that you’re so damn tenacious about everything you set your mind to, and I love how you-”

“Alright,” Damien cries, lips pursed to try to keep his embarrassed smile from growing out of control, “alright my flower I believe you have made your point abundantly clear-”

“You sure, Damien? Because we can keep going for as long as this takes.”

“Quite sure,” he says, and he slips his arms around Arum to hug him properly. “I would prefer to be finished with weeping for today, my loves, and if you continue I will not be able to control myself on that particular front. Tears of happiness, I’m afraid, are still tears.”

Arum tries not to noticeably react to the sound of Damien’s voice now that it sounds more like him, steady and lilting instead of desperate and sharp, but he’s unsure how well he manages to hide his relief.

They stand in embrace for a few long minutes, breathing slowly, with Rilla humming lightly against Damien’s shoulder.

“I… I am not so experienced in… _relationships_ ,” Arum says quietly, breaking the silence. “We are… we are still- you have not changed your mind,” he settles on, wincing. “About… about _us,_ have you, honeysuckle?”

“ _No_ ,” Damien says emphatically, squeezing his arms tighter around Arum’s midsection. “Saints no, absolutely not. You are- the both of you are the best part of my life. That is… part of why it is so hard for me to believe it can last. It feels too good to be true, at times.”

“Alright,” Arum breathes through his relieved sigh. “And… and you do know…” he huffs out a breath of discomfort. “You know that when I say… when we are speaking, and I say that you are foolish or ridiculous- you _do_ know that I- that-”

“I know you do not mean it,” Damien murmurs into Arum’s steady chest, closing his eyes, the gentle scritch of Arum’s claws drifting up and down his back between him and Rilla’s steady heat. “Or- that you only mean them affectionately.”

“If I cross into cruelty, honeysuckle-”

“It is comforting, actually,” Damien says, and Arum can feel the curve of his smile against his scales, “when you are willing to tease me. It is better that way, than if you treated me always as if I were fragile. It feels more honest. It’s easier to make myself believe you, that way.” He laughs, very slightly. “And, if you ever _did_ overstep, I am certain our Rilla would make you aware of your mistake before I would even have the chance.”

“Yep,” Rilla agrees from behind the knight, looking at Arum over his shoulder with sharp, steady eyes. “No worries there.”

Arum, surprisingly, does feel less worried at that. “Good. Would you step back for me, Amaryllis?”

Rilla raises an eyebrow, but she does as he asks. Damien gives a look of confusion for only a moment before Arum’s hands all move in concert to lift him back up into Arum’s arms, just as he had been before.

“There,” he says, satisfied. “You are quite easy to carry, honeysuckle.”

“Of course it’s easy for _you_ ,” Rilla says. “You have extra arms to work with.”

“You will find that I am simply stronger than you soft mammals,” he says, preening, and then he glances down towards Damien, checking his expression carefully. “If you don’t mind terribly, little knight, I believe I enjoy having you in my clutches.”

Damien is breathless, face flushed, but the tension from earlier is nowhere to be seen. He lifts an arm to curl around Arum’s shoulder, readjusting in the lizard’s grip to make himself more comfortable. “If- if you _insist_ , Lord Arum,” he says primly. “If you are sure I shall not strain you-”

“Don’t make me laugh. You weigh about as much as you would if you were _truly_ made of flowers.” He grins at the knight, but the eye contact drags out until something earnest slips into his expression. “I could never tire of having you in my arms, honeysuckle.”

“Oh, stoppit,” Rilla complains, swatting a hand through the air. “Stop being so damn cute. You’re making me want to play hooky and I have _tons_ of work to do. Get back to the Keep already and stop teasing me.”

“Of course, Amaryllis,” Arum says, bending in a mock bow and smirking as Damien laughs in his arms at the swooping motion. “A thousand apologies. Keep?”

Rilla scowls, eyes sparkling as the portal opens. “Oh, wait- before you leave.” She comes closer, and presses something into Damien’s hand with a sly smile and Arum gives a pleased rattling laugh when he recognizes it.

“What- wait, your recorder?” He furrows his brow, puzzled, and then tilts his head at her. “Why?”

“It’s more of a player than a recorder, actually, but it’s what’s on it I want you to hang on to for me, okay?”

He blinks, then brushes his thumb over the play button but does not push. “What is it, love?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Arum says smugly above him, and Rilla laughs.

“Arum and I have been working on this for a little while. Something for you to play when we aren’t around to do what we just did, or for when you’re feeling anxious about bothering us but you still need a bit of a boost.”

“It is why our list was so well prepared,” Arum adds.

Damien presses his thumb down, and Rilla’s voice chimes from the device.

_Damien comfort log, version sixte-_

_It is not a log, Amaryllis, this is why we keep needing to start over_ -

_Shush. Fine. List of ways Sir Damien has charmed the literal pants off of both of us, is that better for you?_

There is a short hissing rattle that devolves into a laugh.

 _Yes, actually. That is much better_.

_If you wanna go totally informal we can do that too, Arum. So, Damien, we both love you pretty ridiculously and we know you get in your own head about it sometimes, so we thought it might help if you had something permanent that you could pull out when you’re feeling unsteady, you know?_

_Amaryllis insisted I write out notes beforehand, if you care to know how seriously she took this, honeysuckle_.

_Notes are useful. They reminded me just now to start with this- Damien, you are the most sincerely compassionate person that I’ve ever known, you are patient, you-_

Damien firmly presses the stop button, his eyes shining, and Rilla shrugs. “I started with the same one earlier because I kind of memorized the notes I made for this. I just- we thought this could help, maybe.”

“It’s lovely,” Damien says, swiping at his eyes as Rilla and Arum politely pretend not to notice. “I am- I am not used to _receiving_ the gift of words, oh Saint Damien above, my loves are so full of surprises-”

The Keep sings through the portal, its voice mingling exasperation, confusion, and fondness, and Arum starts slightly, having forgotten that he had already opened the way. “Ah. Apologies, Keep. Will we- see you tonight, Amaryllis?”

“If the experiment goes really well or really poorly I should be done before nine, otherwise midnight at the latest, I think,” she says with a shrug, and then she comes close enough to give each of them a kiss on the cheek. “Behave until then, okay?”

Arum rolls his eyes through a grin, and Damien squeezes Rilla’s hand for an extra moment and kisses her knuckles before he releases her.

“Thank you, both of you, for-” Damien clutches the device, clutches his other arm tighter around Arum’s shoulder. “Just- thank you.”

“Would you believe that we have rendered the little poet near-speechless, Amaryllis?” Arum says, nudging his nose into Damien’s cheek in an almost-kiss. “Impressive work, love.”

She grins, then lightly pushes the monster towards the portal. “Go home already, will you? It’s rude to leave the Keep waiting like that.”

Arum grins wider. “Until tonight,” he says, and then he steps back through to his home.

Damien's nerves try to rally against him again when Rilla is no longer with them, but the reality of Arum’s textured scales against his own skin anchors him to reality, and the weight of Rilla and Arum’s gift in his hand feels talismanic, magical. He sighs, letting his head sink to rest against the crook of Arum’s neck, and he feels the lizard laugh gently.

True to his word, Arum does not tire of Damien’s weight in his arms. Arum does not tire of him even as Damien himself tires, eyelids sinking under the weight of his exhausting day, nor even as Damien succumbs entirely to sleep, with his cheek against Arum’s shoulder.

He does not even tire of him in the in-between, and when Damien wakes again he is still carefully entwined in Arum’s arms, safe and beloved in their shared bed.


End file.
